It's Showtime
by maddiepls
Summary: Mira Thorne had survived the Uprising when she was ten with the quick thinking of her father, but now on the 6th annual Hunger Games she is chosen as a tribute for District 4 along with a strikingly handsome boy named Meyer. How will she survive when the arena the Gameskeepers have chosen this year is an abandoned theme park?


**A/N**: this is my first Hunger Games fic yay! okay so this will be set out in the early stages of Panem, a couple of years after the Uprising and all that shiz, so just wanted to let you guys know.

**Disclaimer**: I own some of the characters but not the whole idea of the Hunger Games, that goes to the wonderful Suzanne Collins.

Gentle waves lapped at my toes, the coldness and familiarity of the water calming me slightly. It was strange how sometimes you could go to a place where its just you and nature and ever thing else seems to float away, all bad thoughts drifting slowly up into the sky like helium balloons being released out of a gripping hand. I sat down slowly on a bit of dry golden sand and looked at the slowly setting sun, sighing a little. Wind rushed through my hair and cooled the sweat that had formed at my neck. I loved this beach. Dad had told me once that this was where he and my mother met for the first time, and that made me feel a little bittersweet. The thought of my mum being here on this beach made my heart contract a little in longing, for her to be with me now, for her to be here no matter where or when. It's stupid, I know it is, there is no way to reverse death and that I am 100% sure of.

My mother died while giving birth to me and she didn't even get to hold her first -and only- child, Dad had told me one night in one of his alcohol induced despairing rants. Dad didn't usually drink, only when it was Mum's birthday or their anniversary. During those days he would drink until he was a sobbing mess on the floor and I'd have to clean him up and get him into bed, where he would fall fast asleep but with a red face, sniffling nose and a heavy heart. I missed my mum. A lot more than I should considering I never knew her, sure Dad has old photo's, that he saved when the Uprising had started, of her and him, but it wasn't the same.

The uprising was brutal. I had been 10 at the time and I can still hear the terrified screams and shouts for help, still smell the burning of buildings and shops, and could definitely still see the dying people that had lay on the ground, eyes unmoving and unseeing. I had nightmares about it sometimes.

When the hundreds of peace keepers from the Capitol came to our district that day I knew something very very bad was going to happen. But I suspected Dad knew well before the peace keepers came. We had been at the markets, buying what we little food we could afford, when we saw them, the hovercrafts, closing in around the district. His eyes had flashed in surprise before a look of grim determination had set in his tanned features. I didn't know what was going on and was about to ask him when he had grabbed my hand and yanked me towards him, and as I was about to complain, he leaned down and whispered in my ear one word.

"Run."

And we did. Oh boy, we did. He clutched at my hand like a lifeline, tugging me through the sandy streets of our district. As we ran people gave us curious, and sometimes rude, looks. Dad hadn't seemed to of cared though, his wide shouldered frame hurtling through street after street, me trying to keep up with his great, long, athletic strides.

That was when I heard it. When it started.

A bomb went off.

It made a terrifyingly loud noise, a humongous bang, loud enough for me for me to stop and turn around in surprise as my eyes widened. My Dad, still running at the time seemed more determined to get home now. He stopped reluctantly, walked back in my direction, turned, then he crouched down slightly, his back to my face and made an impatient noise. Me, knowing what he was offering clambered on to his back hurriedly, my legs going around his waist as he stood up and started running again. I could hear the people we had ran past, screaming now and trying to run as well. But I could also hear the Peace keepers running after _them_.

We were too far ahead now for the Peace keepers to get us, and I thanked God for my father's agility.

I heard gunshots fire, and I swiveled my head around quickly, looking back at the distant figures of people, the Peacekeepers dressed in white were aiming their guns at the on lookers that had seen us running and were letting the guns fire with no restraint. I saw body after body slump on the ground, lifeless. The backs of my eyes had stung, eyes watering dangerously but had shed no tears. The rest all seemed a horrifying blur.

We had got to the house, a small light blue shack, the porch overlooking an rarely used strip of beach, Dad had hurled through the front door urgently, setting me down beside our light orange couch, then throwing the rug that had lay on the floor out of the way, before tugging open a hatch door that had been set into the worn wood of the floor and saying to me in a rush, "Quickly there's no time. Get in."

And I had. Because I trusted -_trust_- my Dad implicitly.

When in there it seemed to be a basement, dank, dark and dusty. I had thought confusedly that I never thought we had a basement, though I never really searched the house throughly before, even after living there my whole life, I was too busy exploring outside. It was cold and I shivered a little.I could hear were my Father's heaving breaths across the room, then I him shuffling around the small space before tugging on something, and before I knew it the 'basement' was filled with light.

I had looked at him, and he had looked at me, then he had opened his arms, inviting me into a hug and I had raced into it thankfully, snuggling my head into his neck and breathing in that scent that I had breathed in many of times before, it was a mix of soap and salt and it soothed my frayed nerves. The last thing I remembered that night before difting off to sleep in a leather couch , was my Dad singing to me softly, stroking my hair.

I was brought back down out of my dazed reminiscing when I felt a crab scuttle across my foot. I looked down at it and it seemed to look up back at me, judging if I was a threat to it or not. I snorted softly, I'm not a threat to anybody, my short petite frame made sure of that. Sighing a little I realized startlingly that the sun had gone down fully and I had to be home before dark. I got up quickly, stumbling a little and sprinting further down the beach, jumping over the rocks that pointed out here and there, effortlessly. Soon, I was outside my house and looking at it critically, it seemed to have changed a lot in the past 6 years. The previously immaculate paint that had clung to the outer wood of the house was beginning to peel and the windows were going a little brown from the grime that hadn't been bothered to be wiped clean by either myself or my Dad. I'll have to clean them in a couple of days time, I thought vacantly, making my way up the groaning steps to my little house, well, it was more of a shack but I think house sounds better.

As soon as I stepped through the door and shut it behind me I knew where my Dad would be. I slipped off my sandals and threw them carelessly towards the end of the couch, and even that wasn't looking it's best, the light orange of it was now worn and little threads hung from some of some of the seams.

"Dad?" I called out, walking towards the small, dusty hallway that consisted of only 2 doors.

"In here, sweetie!" I heard him call from the furthest door. I _knew_ he would be in there.

I walked swiftly to the room, opening the door slowly and leaning against its frame. "What are you doing?" I asked curiously, glancing at the rest of his bedroom, in it was a small double bed the covers a faded blue, a desk that my Dad was currently working on, along with a seat, and a withered pot plant that stood next to a window, that showed the sky full of glistening stars.

"Oh, just seeing if I can fix this fish finder, you know I need it to keep us fed." He said, his voice a little muffled since he was peering into a little machine closely.

"I know Dad, did you catch anything today?"

He sighed before setting the fish finder down, and wiping his hand across a sweat slicked brow.

"No, just a few little octopuses, but lord knows that doesn't earn us much money for things we need."

Looking at him worriedly, I took his hand in mine and led him towards the couch before plonking down on it, tugging him down with me, him automatically wrapping an arm around my waist as I snuggled into his side. We didn't speak for a little while, before I turned my head up and stared at him.

"The Reaping is tomorrow." I uttered quietly.

For a moment I thought he didn't hear me and was about to say it again when I saw his expression turn into one of torment and sadness.

"I know." He replied, his voice breaking a little.

"It'll be okay Dad. I survived 3 years already, this is probably not going to be any different."

He looked at me finally, his gaze running across my face, before kissing my forehead.

"I don't know, sweetie, I just have a bad feeling about tomorrow."

I could still smell the salt of the beach as I walked with my Dad to the Justice Building, I could feel my heart pounding in fear and anticipation. Two people in this throng of children was going to be picked out of a bowl and slaughtered, and even if one of them from our district did win, 1 other kid would be dead, mourned by their families and friends.

I walked up to a female peacekeeper at a desk taking blood samples and recording information. I held up my hand gingerly, as she pricked my finger and guided my it on to a bit of paper, making a smudge of crimson blood there. She stared at me imploringly before motioned me away. I rolled my eyes and went to find my age group filled with sweating nervous girls, all dressed in their best clothes. I wore a pale pink dress that went up to my collarbones and down to my knees, this was paired with slightly dirty white ballet flats and I felt particularly unattractive next to all the other girls of my age with their flowing brown curls, while I had limp straight, slightly dirty blonde hair, tied back with a clip.

When all the children were in their groups according to age and sex, there was thump of the microphone being picked up. It made a loud screeching noise, causing everyone to cover their ears and cringe. Then there was the sound of someone clearing their throat as everyone looked up towards the stage that had been set in front of the dark and hardly used justice building.

"Testing, testing," An un-naturally high pitched voice sounded, making a couple of girls in my group look around and catch their friends eye, smiling nastily at the obvious estrangement in the woman's voice.

I looked at the person that voice had come from, grimacing as I caught sight of what she was wearing this year. Veeda Maybella was woman had naturally brown skin and long, ink black hair that was almost down to her waist, she had sharp severe features and her eyebrows were a fluro blue, making her skin tone seem even darker. I blanched at her outfit, it was _horrible_. I think it was supposed to look like a wave, maybe, if you tilted your head to the side a little.. She wore a silky blue dress almost as bright as the colour of her eyebrows, and it flared out at the shoulder, little bits of transparent bubbles covering the edge of the material before flowing down her small body sideways, showing one skinny tan leg. She paired it with orange eyeshadow and some golden bracelets that shimmered in the hot sun.

"Let's start how we always do, shall we?" She said, gesturing towards the giant screen on her left.

The video that I had seen 4 times now started playing, the speaker saying things about the tragedies of the uprising and how a lot of innocent people died, how the Capitol decided to punish all 12 districts by choosing two underage tributes from each, one female, one male, to compete in a completion to fight to the death, where only one winner comes out .. and blah blah blah. I've heard all of this before anyway. Soon though, it was over and everyone turned their attention back to Veeda who was looking down at the as though they were dirt.

"Alright then, let's not beat around the bush, we'll get right into it." Veeda said into the vintage microphone, her long fingers curling around the handle before letting go and walking up to one of the giant glass bowls on either side of her. She looked at both of them inquiringly and seemed to pick the boys to go first.

She dug her hand around in the slips of names, before carefully picking out one directly from the bottom. She cleared her throat a little, before calling out a name.

"Meyer Callan." It was spoken clearly, and everyone turned to look at the boy.

I saw him, in front of me in a group with the 17 years old boys, he gulped and looked up at the stage in shock, like he didn't really think he would get called out. He was tall and lanky, he could easily tower over me by 5 inches or more. He had brown hair, and it must have been wind swept because it hung over to one side and stayed there. His skin was a golden brown like every one here in District 4. But his eyes were what startled me the most, they were the colour of daffodils in full bloom, a golden yellow that held me captivated for a moment.

He walked to the stage shakily, looking like he was going to pass out at any moment now. I felt a stab of sympathy and pity for him. Veeda looked at him sharply and his eyes skittered away from hers nervously.

"All right, and now for the girls." Veeda called out into the microphone before walking to the glass bowl that had my name in it, along with 300 other girls.

"Our female tribute for the 6th annual Hunger Games is..." I felt the girls around me tense and hold their breath as Veeda shoved her hand into the slips and hastily pulled one out, "Mira Thorne."

Time seemed to freeze.

I gasped. That was my name.

I sensed rather than saw the peacekeepers about to step in and yank me towards the stage. One of them wrapped it's hand around my forearm and without knowing I tugged my arm away harshly, with a strength I didn't know I had, saying something unintelligible.

I walked with them to the stage, my face a mask with no emotion, but a million thoughts were fluttering around in my head. What about my Dad? What about my beach? And again, _what about my Dad? _

When I got to the stage my eyes sought out my father's frame in the audience. His face was one of shock and overwhelming sadness and I could see that he was fighting back tears. I blinked as my eyes burned not even taking notice of Veeda congratulating myself and Meyer.

"Well, aren't you going to shake hands?" I heard Veeda snap at us from my half dazed state. I felt Meyers gaze on me, looking at me expectantly and nervously. I shoved out my hand quickly, taking Meyers and giving it a gentle shake.

I am a tribute in the Hunger Games. I am a tribute in the Hunger Games. _I am a tribute in the Hunger Games, _was as all that my mind could repeat right now. It was like it was ingrained there, playing over and over like a scratched record. I vaguely felt the peacekeepers tugging me forward into the justice building to wait for my family members, to say my goodbyes. But my mind added a couple of words more to that sentence that filled me with dread.

I am a tribute in the Hunger Games and I probably won't win.


End file.
